Pon Farr
by TrivialQueen
Summary: Crack!fic. Thomas Cromwell is a Vulcan, you know it, I know it. This comes with some complications, two words: Pon Farr. The blood fever that tells Vulcan males they must mate or die. Thank God he has Elizabeth. Merry Christmas, you're welcome. Rated M.


Pon Farr

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Disclaimer: I am neither a Historian, a Theologian, nor a TV Producer; I therefore do not own anything.  
Pairings: Thomas Cromwell/ Elizabeth Wyckes Cromwell  
_This is complete Crack stemming from the fact that the average understanding of Cromwell is that he is some uberstoic cold hearted bastard and the fact that I love Spock. So what if Cromwell was Vulcan, the alien race in Star Trek? It would explain the dark hair, the long, lean body, fair skin and logical lifestyle. Having Crom be Vulcan also opens his story up to Pon Farr which can be both touching and pornographic. In Star Trek, Vulcan males and females go into heat every seven years, going into a blood fever, becoming violent, and finally dying if they do not mate with someone with whom they are empathically bonded.

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"Sarek?" Elizabeth paused beside her husband's assistant; he looked up from his work. She hated to bother him but Thomas has her worried. Very worried.

"Yes Lady Elizabeth?" the secretary asked. She fiddles with the simple gold and pearl cross around her neck and tries to figure out how to phrase her worry without causing alarm or letting slip their great secret. Everyone knows her beloved is not like other men at court but none know just exactly how _alien_ he truly is. Thomas is not human at all, but Vulcan.

Elizabeth was not sure how he came to the planet earth, she was only certain that he was firmly in her heart and soul, alien or no. And she was sure that something was wrong. Vulcans, like her husband were the same and different from humans. They were tall and thin with pointed ears and blood so warm that she rarely need a blanket when they shared a bed. More striking than his hot blood flushing green under his far skin and strange ears were his mannerisms. Vulcans, Thomas reminded her frequently, are ruled by logic. They have emotions but prefer to keep them in check; great displays are frowned upon in his society. This was such a contrast to court where people wear their hearts and virility on their sleeves. People think he is cold, humorless and even evil, all because he does not throw his head back and laugh. Women often asked her how she could marry a man so aloof and harsh. They ask if he is good to her. _Good to me?_ Elizabeth wished to cackle, He was tender and sweet in his own way, she loved him and his mask of logic. When he laughed it is rare but it was special. When he smiled he smiled for her and she can feel herself glow.

But lately Thomas had not been himself. He was sleeping even less than usual, and Vulcans required so little sleep as it was. He ate less and his tastes have strayed from his usual vegetarian preferences. And he laughed, unabashed at what before would only warrant a smirk. This atypical behavior is what prompted her to speak to Mr. Sarek.

She had anticipated one of his small smiles, a soft chuckle for her ears only. She had not expected him to throw his head back and laugh. He laughed until fat tears rolled down his cheeks. He laughed until Sarek poked his head in, concern etched on his face, he'd not known the King's stoic secretary to possess a sense of humor. Elizabeth gave Sarek a small smile – to tell him that everything was alright, but it wasn't. Inside her stomach churned with worry. This was not the behavior of her beloved Vulcan. What had come over her husband?

"Thomas," she said softy after Sarek shut the great office door. "Are you feeling alright?" His mirth steaming eyes, once shut in humor, snap open.

"I am just fine, Elizabeth, why do you ask?" Elizabeth had to choose her words carefully she realized, she had never known Thomas to be moody but that is exactly what he was. Most illogical.

"Thomas I am just worried about you – your health and well-being. You've not been sleeping, or eating properly, Love, I am worried. Even Sarek has comment on how ragged you seem to be working yourself." At the mention of his assistant's name Thomas' eyes glitter like daggers. They were hard.

"Sarek has said something to you?" he asks in a gravelly tone, a shiver rolled down her spine, the court called him a cold bastard but she never felt the arctic wind until now.

"Only when I asked him about this Anglo-Spanish treaty and if he had seen you eat recently." He stood with a snap and walked to the window, she upset him.

"Thomas-"

"I have much to work on Elizabeth, perhaps _Sarek_ night give you the conversation you seek." There is no use in trying to speak with him, he has completely shut himself from her, his words, his posture, and even their mindlink had a wall with guards and a mote separating us. The mindlink. Was something born in his people, what he felt his wife felt and what his wife felt he felt. Humans, he once told her, simply had not tapped into this connection, but as his 'bond mate' he would help her. The first time they melded – formed this link, she was frightened. It felt as if she was running through the ocean, but then his calming presence washed over her and she never felt fear again. He was always with her - in her head, in her heart. But not now. She could not feel him. It was as if someone had severed a part of her soul.

Elizabeth closed his door and did not even try to stop the tea. Sarek looked upon her with sympathy, surly the secretary though her husband a cold bastard. Elizabeth knew she was just feeding the misconception. She knew loving Thomas would not be easy, but this was the first time it'd ever been hard.

"Lady Elizabeth? Are you alright?" Elizabeth dried her eyes and offered him a mask of a smile.

"I am fine, Sarek, simply concerned for my Husband's health." The secretary's secretary smiled gently but did not believe her.

"Your husband is most diligent-"

"Sarek!" Thomas stood in his door, eyes ablaze, "I need your assistance. Now." The secretary patted her hand and followed her husband who was throwing off emotion like lightning. Elizabeth hung her head. She had a feeling that things were only going to get worse before it got better.

She went for a walk. Elizabeth needed to clear her head and fresh air always helped get a fresh perspective. Her pigheaded husband would only respond to logic, and as he often teased her, she was most illogical. But now he was the illogical one. She walked and thought and thought and walked, she did not turn back to Wolsey's great house until the English skies turned red with the set of the sun. There was only one conclusion that she was able to come up with when she reflected on Thomas' behavior. It was called _Pon Farr_. A natural occurrence in the Vulcan race, much the same as her monthly, though not as regular. Thomas had told her of how his people did not like to talk about the _Pon Farr_ and its fires. She had begged him to elaborate and he did, but only slightly. Just enough. But what he said and what she had seen there was only one explanation… She returned to Hampton with purpose in her step. Thomas needed her.

"Lady Elizabeth! Lady Elizabeth!" Her ladies' maid Miranda was upon her the moment she so much looked inside the courtyard. "The Baron has been looking for you everywhere…I-we-"

"Lady Elizabeth!" Caleb, another member of the household seemed overjoyed to see her. The entire way from the gatehouse to her chambers servants appeared relieved to see her. _What terror has Thomas wrought to have the entire household in this state?_ Elizabeth shuttered to think. Her Vulcan husband … perhaps there was a reason he kept such a tight hold on his emotions.

She arrived at her empty apartment a little embarrassed to have caused such a worry. She called for her maid immediately, if Thomas was truly in the fires of _Pon Farr_ her restrictive clothing would be destroyed or worse in his haste. She barely had her dressing gown over her head when Thomas burst through the door with a force that rattled the hinges. She sent her maids away, ignoring their fearful looks as her husband barreled through the rooms – throwing drapes open and peering behind doors.

"Where is he?" He growled at her, stopping and seething in the middle of the room.

"Where is who?"

"Sarek! Your Lover!" He sized her by the upper arms with a bruising force.

"Lover?" she exclaimed struggling in his grip. This was worse than she feared. "Thomas get your bloody hands off'a me and sit down, you are clearly unwell." Her voice a mixture of stubborn defiance and wifely concern.

"Tell me, did you fuck him?" he growled, green-brown eyes glowing with emotion. Her hand twitched and itched with the desire to slap him but he had her in a firm, painful grip. He had her very nearly off the ground.

"NO! I've only ever _fucked_ you!"

"After our fight I could not find you or him," his grip loosened slightly, a boy's fear creeping into his voice. "I thought…"

"Well, you thought wrong, after our fight I went for a walk – to clear my head and dry my tears, I had no idea how long I was gone until the sun began to set and the servants came looking for me. As for Sarek, I am sure he has a life of his own." A serious steel over takes the flame of furry.

"I will kill anyone who dares to touch you. Only I can touch you because you are _mine._" She hadn't the time to think before Thomas pounced, picking her up. Her butt resting on his forearm as he backed into a wall, his long fingers finding the meld points on her face – forefinger on her cheekbone, middle finger above her brow, their mental link reopened and like a flood his emotions assaulted her. Passion, anger, jealously, lust, desire. Desire to take her, to claim his mate. He was kissing her as if he would _die_ if he did not and then she realized that it was true. If Thomas was in _Pon Farr_ and he went without his mate he would die. Yet if he took her with the force of his kiss and the strength of his desire she might die. His need was that strong. She tried to use her calm emotions to sooth him but what his tongue did to her… He stroked a fire of desire in her so strong there was no way she could do anything but fan his flame, they would both be incinerated in their passion and they would be happy to go.

His lips began to explore, his tongue traced her ear, his teeth nipped along her jaw, she was able to make but one request, breathless in his ear.

"Bed." She panted. With his free hand he pushed them off the wall and they stumbled through their chambers, crashing and not caring until they reached the bedroom.

Thomas dropped his bride on the bed and stood over her, handsome face split into a broad, feral smile. He looked like a wolf and she felt like his prey. He shucked his clothes with little ceremony and growled,

"Indeed, Love, I am the wolf of the hall. _Lupus in fabula_." He took her dressing gown in hand and tore it open, not even bothering with the sash. Her hands raked down his back, she remembered him saying how Vulcan time was different than earth. He was much older than her. One couldn't tell. He was lean and muscular with the back of an oarsman and the butt of a horseman. How she didn't know since it was not like he had the time to tone his physique – unless marathon writing, book lifting, and running to do his majesty's bidding qualified as a workout.

He drug her bare hips to his and lined his ridged self up with her tight channel. He thrust into her with such force that she couldn't even scream with pleasure. He was to his hilt and then he drew out again before slamming balls deep into her again. His pace was destructive, rough, so strong she thought she would break or die from pleasure. Their coupling had always been passionate and pleasurable but it had never been like this. Bliss was on a constant loop, like a Mobius strip thanks to their mindlink his pleasure was her pleasure and her pleasure his. He was over her, inside of her – in her head, in her heart, in her womb. They were truly one. One crazed sexual being – frantic, fucking. He pounded into her possessively and she clutched him tightly with all her might, fingernails leaving deep cuts down the strong muscles of his back.

"Mine! Mine! Mine!" he panted against her skin, he was branding her, she was destined to have marks for days – a necklace of them. Everyone would know exactly what they were doing, the entire court will know that the King's cold secretary can bring a woman to her peak. At least they would when they saw the marks on her – and how they matched the marks she gave him.

She bit him, teeth sinking into the tender flesh of his clavicle and neck, her tongue swirled and laps the copper green blood and he would be thankful for his high collared robes for the marks she gave him would be stunning.

He tilts his hips and she saw stars, her toes curled and she writhed beneath him.

"**THOMAS!**" she moaned with a voice not her own. It reverberated off the ceiling and the combined force of their orgasm shook the bed.

It took two days for the fire that controlled Thomas Cromwell to subside. In those two days Elizabeth came to the conclusion that she had successfully experienced coitus on every single surface that could support two people, and some that couldn't, in every position known to man, an a few known to animals. She was impressed to say the least.


End file.
